Transition
by ILM
Summary: One day, the LAPD recall their liaison officer. And now it's time to decide if this is an end or a beginning.
1. Chapter 1

**Just because there has to be a time when it ends... and maybe this is how.**

**Disclaimer: Oh no, they definitely aren't my characters. I make them miserable.**

* * *

The day he leaves NCIS, he gets his hair cut, sneering at himself for the transparent connection between the two.

He can't get used to the way he looks afterwards. It's been years since his name wasn't synonymous with his shaggy hair and scruffy demeanour and now he feels like he's not himself any more. Maybe he isn't.

There are already five missed calls on his cell and he knows she won't give up until there are hundreds more. He'll answer it before it gets that far, of course, it's just that now; two hours after he left the place he's worked in for the past six years, he's really not in the mood to calm her down. He needs to settle himself first.

His phone lights up silently in his hand. Call six. He ignores it and two minutes later there's a text. She doesn't leave voicemails because she knows he won't listen to them.

_Please answer the phone_.

It doesn't say anything else. They aren't the kind to put long, heartfelt confidences in writing.

He doesn't want to go home and stops at a coffee place he's never been in before. It's been a long time since he's felt this alone.

They've had a month's notice but it wasn't enough. Not that it matters, since he doesn't think twice that would have prepared him for what it feels like. He wonders if it's the same for her this time as it was when he'd been forced to pretend to be leaving, so long ago now. Maybe having experienced it once the shock is lessened for her now.

He feels as though he doesn't fit anywhere. Nominally, he's due back at LAPD on Monday and he's already had an invite to a reorientation meeting. After six years, he thinks he needs more than a reorientation meeting, but it doesn't matter – he'll be out on assignment again soon, so it won't hurt him if he can't remember the photocopier code. It'll be strange, being permanently uprooted once more. Since he became NCIS liaison his undercover stints have lasted only a few weeks, at most, and he's got used to being able to slip back into his day-to-day life easily. Before, he was used to not seeing his own home for months at a time, exchanging words only with people he could never entirely trust.

He orders a muffin with his coffee and eats it slowly, breaking it apart, allowing self-pity to wash over him. Even by his dramatic standards, feeling nostalgic already is a little premature. And truthfully, he knows his ties aren't severed. He'll still see the team – or most of them, anyway – but it won't be the same. They will have that unique tie created through living side-by-side constantly on the edge of chaos and he won't be part of that anymore.

When Hetty finally retired two years ago, worn out by office politics, he still hadn't signed the papers she offered him a long time ago. He repeated what he'd told her then, that he was a cop and still felt like a cop, no matter how long he'd spent with a federal agency. She looked at him and sighed, reminding him this could be the last opportunity; after this there would be no guarantee NCIS would accept him permanently, not without her there.

It sounds stupid now, but they never considered the arrangement ending. It worked, having a link between NCIS and LAPD, although he forces himself to admit that six years away has shifted his loyalties more than he anticipated when he first took up the post. With Hetty gone and a new manager in place, it had been even more important to co-ordinate activity across the city, so they had fallen into complacency.

When the word came from the LAPD that they were recalling their liaison officer, he'd watched his partner's face freeze but he still couldn't say with any certainty what she was feeling. Two years ago, when he first openly acknowledged to himself that their attraction was more than physical desire and wasn't going away any time soon, he knew she wasn't ready. It might have taken him a long time to come out of denial completely, but it was always going to take her longer. Since then, he's remained silent whilst Kensi has tried to carry on oblivious to the chemistry between them, his normally impatient instinct tamped down by his knowledge of her. Now he wishes he'd pushed her.

Of course, he could still apply to join NCIS. The long way, without Hetty to ease the path. The thing is, he's not sure he wants to. His identity is caught up with being a cop, not a federal agent, and even he isn't sure why it's so important to him. He certainly finds it hard to believe it's more important than remaining with the team he's belonged to for the past six years. And even if NCIS did accept him – which they might not, despite the work he's put in as part of them – there's no guarantee they'd allow him to stay with the team. Or even in LA, come to that.

At least this way he knows he won't be that far from her.

He drains his coffee and leaves, ignoring the interested glances from the girl clearing the tables. He suddenly feels too old even to send her a flirty wink and he has to remind himself that life hasn't ended just because something has changed.

Recently, he's been thinking a lot about the future, especially after the false deadline of him leaving appeared. Whilst he's by no means old, he's reached the point where the idea of a slightly more settled life and maybe even a family is more appealing than it ever has been in the past. He can't deny that Kensi has been a wishful thought in the coalescing strands of his speculation but underneath it all he's a realist. He still has no concrete conviction that this bizarre, undefined thing between them would ever have occurred if they hadn't been thrown together by Hetty and put through more perilous situations than most people experience in a lifetime. Forcing its way to the front of his mind is the worry that they will find there is no connection at all, even as friends, now that they aren't facing the possibility of death (or at least serious injury) together on a regular basis. It makes him think that he should be looking elsewhere.

He drives the rest of the way home on autopilot, trying so hard not to let his mind land on one single thing that everything jumbles together in his thoughts. He misses the figure on sitting on the step until she rises.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, entirely aware that it's an unreasonable, unfair question to a partner who has been nothing but dependable, even in their early days.

She isn't perturbed and he's vaguely annoyed by her calmness.

"Wanted to check on you."

"Check on me doing what? Finding my way home? Making dinner?" He tries hard to keep his voice light but he's pretty certain she'll hear the undercurrent of bitterness.

She shrugs her shoulders. "If you like. You obviously did okay with the first part of that." She steps closer and tentatively reaches out to brush her fingers over his newly shorn head. "What made you do this?"

He gestures carelessly, not sure what he's trying to indicate. "Just time. Can't look like Shaggy forever. New start on Monday." He opens his front door and doesn't try to stop her following him in.

He bought this house last year, finally committing to something more than a rolling rental contract. It had taken him six months of dithering before he'd even agree to seeing more than one place in a weekend, but he had taken to this house on first sight after countless weekends of dispirited viewings. He'd been on his own the first time he saw it and when he'd taken her with him for a second look a couple of days later he'd surprised himself by his sudden desire to own it. Now, despite all the work that's gone into it over the last year, he feels strangely detached from it, as though it isn't really his home.

"You staying for a bit?" he asks, wandering through to the kitchen and offering her a beer from the fridge.

She looks at him questioningly for a moment, then seems to decide against whatever she was going to ask. "Depends. You cooking?"

He laughs, ruefully. He knows what she's angling at. "Not tonight, Kens. You'll have to look elsewhere to feed your new pasta habit." Last month he'd made penne arrabiata and she'd come back two days later demanding more. Since then she's been trying to coax another dinner invite out of him.

"Damn. Pizza?"

He nods and watches her pull a menu from a pile in a drawer. She's never spent all that much time here – they don't live in each other's pockets – but she seems to know where everything is.

He calls the pizza place and they talk about anything but the thing that marks today out. It's as if they're both trying to pretend today wasn't the last day he would spend with NCIS and they're actually pretty good at it. He thinks they could probably keep it up longer if Monday wasn't going to be a concrete reminder of the change.

When the pizza arrives she automatically moves to find plates and snag two more beers from the fridge, turning to find him depositing boxes on the counter.

"Oh, garlic bread," she exclaims, disproportionately pleased at the unexpected addition.

He grins. "You're pretty easy to win over."

She loads her plate and carries it back through to the other room, nudging him with her hip as she does so. "Try not to tell everyone."

He raises his eyebrows as she goes, surprised at her relaxed demeanour. It's new for him to be the anxious one and for her to be taking everything in her stride. For a moment, he considers whether she really _isn't_ bothered by what's happening, but he dismisses that fairly quickly once the memory of her frozen expression in the face of the announcement resurfaces in his mind. She _is_ bothered and there has to be a reason for whatever she's doing now.

She turns the television on and starts scrolling through the channels; he knows she's looking for anything light-hearted enough to take her mind off the week they've had. That's why she watches so many reality shows – it's simply because she can't handle serious programmes when she's spent all day in near chaos.

It's a comfortable silence despite the occasion, until he starts his third slice of pizza and realises she's looking at him.

"Kensi. You're staring," he says mildly, not turning towards her.

She hesitates. "I can't get used to your hair," she says quietly.

Something in her tone makes him frown. "It's just a haircut, Kens."

She bites her lip. Sometimes he wishes she wouldn't do that. "It's not. It's... _different_."

He feigns cheerfulness. "Can't keep going undercover with hair like I had. Always surprising I wasn't recognised more often."

Once again her fingers skate over the shortened strands – and he really wishes she wouldn't do _that_. It's a tender touch and one he can't afford to get used to. Not whilst he can't even guess how she feels.

"So you're going under again?" she asks slowly, her hand still hovering at his temple.

He doesn't move. "Won't know till Monday. But if they ask... yes." He tries to grin. "Can't see me fitting back into the department, can you?"

She laughs and her hand moves back to her lap as though she's just realised she shouldn't be touching him like that. "Okay. I just... I thought..."

He fights his instinct to interject, forcing himself to stay silent so that she has to finish.

"I thought you'd be around still," she blurts out, her faces flushing instantly.

"Well, I won't be gone forever," he says, trying to maintain his facade of reason against the urge to fall into despondency. "It'll depend on how long I go under for. Not everything I used to do for the LAPD lasted for months."

She nods and says nothing, reaching for another slice and turning her attention back to the television. He doesn't try to extend the conversation – because after all, what can he say?

During the commercials, she takes the plates back into the kitchen and he thinks she's getting more pizza until he hears a faint noise. It sounds like a choked sob and however hard he tries to persuade himself it isn't, a second sound brings him to his feet.

"Kensi?" he calls tentatively, still hoping his ears are playing tricks. He's seen his partner cry only a few times since they met and he hates it every time.

"I'm okay," she responds brightly and he can hear her opening the fridge.

She has her back to him when he enters the kitchen, opening the two bottles on the counter in front of her. Her back is ramrod straight, tension radiating from her, and he's sure her hand is shaking slightly as she holds the bottle. He wants to put his arms around her and reassure her it will be all right, no matter how it feels now; but even if he thought it really would be, he still doesn't feel as if he has the right to comfort her like that.

Instead, he places his hand lightly on her shoulder, just so she knows he's there.

"You're not okay," he says lamely, wishing he could magically come up with something to say that would mitigate the day they're having.

She snorts derisively. "No, Deeks, I'm not okay. What on earth gave it away?"

He ignores her tone. "I'm good at reading people, remember?" he teases gently. Her body shivers under his hand as the tension becomes too much for her. "Hey. Turn round."

She turns slowly, not really looking at him. Her eyes are slightly pink, the mismatched colours glistening no matter how often she blinks.

"I'm not okay either," he says, his voice low.

She waits a second, then nods before closing the gap between them and wrapping her arms around his neck. His hands move to her back, sliding in comforting strokes; her head nestles beneath his chin, her hair soft against his skin.

And this time it's natural, not awkward like some of their previous hugs. This time, it's what they need right now to remind each other that this doesn't have to be the end of everything.

"You just left," she mumbles, not making any move to break their contact, "and then you wouldn't answer the phone."

He thinks it probably isn't the time to say quite how out of character is her sudden desire to talk.

"I told you I didn't want anything big," he reminds her.

"Yeah, but... I thought you just meant no parties. No big send off. The guys... We wanted to at least take you for a drink." She laughs slightly. "Nell even found the smallest _sorry you're leaving_ banner in existence, just so you couldn't accuse us of making a fuss."

He smiles, tightening his hold on her. "I'll text her. She can use it in a few weeks when I'm not quite so..."

He doesn't finish his sentence because he doesn't know how to describe how he feels. Raw? Fragile? Just plain sad? Nothing seems to quite fit the churning in his stomach and the coldness hovering just beneath his skin.

She nods and he feels the movement rather than sees it. "Okay. But you should have answered the phone." Her hand moves from the back of his neck over his hair again and oh, he could get used to this far too quickly. "I'd have stopped you doing this."

Now he laughs out loud. "Really, Kens? You've spent six years winding me up and it turns out that secretly you liked the shaggy look? Coulda told me three hours ago."

She leans back from him to meet his gaze, still not stepping out of his embrace. "You just don't look like _you_ now. And you don't need a bigger ego, mister."

He tilts his head forward so their foreheads meet. "I don't have much ego left where it comes to you," he murmurs.

It doesn't make much sense, but she seems to understand what he means.

"S'pose I have kept you hanging a bit," she admits hesitantly, a pale rosy pink shading over her face.

He swipes the final tear from beneath her left eye. "We don't have to talk about this now." His hand moves from her face to tuck her hair behind her ear and stop her using it to hide behind.

It's not the time and he knows it. They need to see if they can get through this change first, before they try anything else. But those last few exchanges, no matter how brief, have given him the hope he's been waiting for for the last few years now. Although the last few vestiges of denial haven't yet fallen from her, she isn't fighting herself any more.

She bites her lip. "Thank you," she says suddenly, her voice faint and unsteady, as though she's on the verge of saying more.

He puts his finger to her lips so that she knows it's enough for now. She doesn't have to say anything else to reassure him.

Her hands are still on his shoulders and she isn't displaying her usual twitchiness at their proximity. He wonders quite how shell-shocked she is right now; he knows the past few weeks haven't been easy on either of them and he himself has felt slightly dazed ever since he found out he was going back to LAPD. They haven't really talked about it and every time the others have tried to bring it up one of them has changed the subject so determinedly that there's been no choice but to go along with it. There's been numerous quiet moments in the car when he's wanted to ask how she feels, wanted her to talk about what would happen once he leaves, but he knows her well enough to recognise all of the barriers she's been erecting.

"You could... try to fit in to the department," she says with a sigh, as if there isn't much possibility. "Maybe try something other than undercover work."

He pulls a face, suddenly not wanting to continue the conversation. Gently, he moves away from her, handing her a bottle and taking one for himself.

"I don't know," he says over his shoulder as he returns to the safety of his couch. "Not sure there's much hope of that, do you?"

"Hey," she calls after him, catching him up and settling beside him, "you've been gone a long time, any bad history will be long forgotten." She stares briefly at a spot beyond his head. "I just think... we need..." She stops and takes a deep breath. "I need you not to disappear right now," she blurts out, as if it has taken all her effort just to formulate the words.

He doesn't respond for a moment and she won't even look at him. He doesn't know what to say. He can't imagine not going back undercover, no matter how much the idea of living a second life for so long is off-putting to him now. He can't imagine any other department welcoming him – yes, he's been gone a long time, but history spreads like the plague in the LAPD and he knows every rookie detective will have heard of the unconventional liaison to NCIS who never quite clicked with most other cops.

"You think other departments will be opening their arms to me?" he says lightly, trying to make a joke of it. "Can't see Homicide wanting me in their ranks, for a start. I don't think I have much choice. Drug squad always needs people to infiltrate." He reaches for her hand and squeezes it briefly. "Doesn't mean I'm disappearing, Kens. I'm always going to come back."

She frowns. "But in how long? A month, six months, a year?" She laughs bitterly. "God, I sound like a whiny child. I can't stop you, go back under. We'll see how it goes."

He takes her other hand as well, turning her body to face him. "I won't know till Monday. But I don't want... I can't expect that they'll go with what I want, even if I asked."

She stares at their linked hands. "It would be good to know what you want, though," she mumbles, clearly embarrassed.

He knows his answer's important. "I want us to have this conversation in a few weeks' time, when everything has calmed down," he says quietly.

Now she stares at him and he can see the hurt in her eyes. Before she can speak, he carries on.

"I just said to you that we don't need to talk about this now and you know I meant we don't need to talk about _us_. I meant it. I'm not fobbing you off and I'm not trying to change the subject." He hesitates, then decides he might as well say it now as later. "I do want to have the conversation. It _is_ important to me and," his eyes soften as he meets her gaze, "I don't think you realise quite how much it matters to me right now that we don't make decisions in the heat of the moment that there's any chance of regretting later."

She pauses for a moment and then nods, her hands squeezing his briefly to show him she understands. She's never been good at finding the words to express emotions far deeper than she likes to acknowledge.

When she settles back into the cushions and focuses determinedly on the television, he thinks that's the last they will speak of it for a while. On Monday it will be tough to get through the day, one step ahead of despondency as it chases them, separately now. He already knows that they won't speak on Monday evening, however much they might want to; they have to learn to live separately before they can decide they don't want to.

Her hand stays in his and for now, it's enough. Just enough to remind him that things have changed and will change. Just enough to remind them that the end of one thing doesn't have to be the end of everything.

* * *

**The one-shots work so much better for me... As always, I love to know what people think.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I really did intend to leave this as a one-shot, but I had enough reviews suggesting it should continue that my brain started its ominous 'what if' thought process. It didn't stop.**

**So, here is chapter 2. Chapter 1 still stands alone if people prefer to leave it at that point.**

* * *

Her heart always sinks whenever anybody asks whether she's heard from him and she starts to dread the question.

It's not that she hasn't heard from him – she has – but there is always more to it than a simple enquiry. It ranges from Sam's poorly-hidden bemusement that neither of them seems to have taken the chance to Nell's disappointment when she doesn't get the answer she wants. She's even contemplated lying just to change the reaction she gets.

She has a new partner and she's trying desperately to like him. It helps that he's nothing like Deeks – he doesn't play the clown, make silly comments, call her ridiculous nicknames or take smug delight in charming every pretty woman they meet. No, Will Summers is a perfectly nice guy with a sense of humour and years of experience, and he's doing everything possible to fit in with them. It's not his fault she had six years to get used to the clown and somewhere along the line she saw past the act.

Will is a few years older than her, married with two children. He's open about his life in a way that none of the rest of them are; granted, she and Callen have little to tell that isn't history, but Sam barely mentions his family and she knows it took far longer than three days to find out he was a father. Within a month of being partnered with Will she could probably have answered a quiz on him. After a month with Deeks, she thought she knew a lot about him; it was only later that she learnt how much of him was trapped below the surface.

It's been nearly two months since Deeks left. Since then, she's only seen him once, three weeks ago, surprising herself with the sudden burst of jubilation inside her when she spotted him waving at her as he approached their meeting point on the beach. They went for lunch and she had thought it would be the beginning of something, anything, barely hoping that he would think _now_ was a good time to talk about all the things he had prevented her mentioning before.

And then he'd told her, before ten minutes had passed, that he was going away for a while. 'Going away', that's how he'd phrased it. For a moment, she'd thought he meant a trip, her mind wildly flipping through places he'd said he'd like to visit.

There was even a crazy second when she wondered if she could go with him.

But no.

Going under, that's what he'd meant. The brief respite before she realised that only enhanced the fall once she understood.

"_How long have you known?"_

"_A week or so."_

"_And you're only telling me now?"_

He'd bitten his lip and stared at the table. She had wanted to reach for his hand, ask him not to go, but she'd felt oddly frozen, her repressed fantasy of how this was supposed to go shrinking back into the part of her brain she didn't want to acknowledge.

"_You wanted me to tell you in a text? On the phone? I'm not even supposed to tell you I'm going."_

"_I don't... I don't know. I just... Where are you going?"_

"_Kensi... You know I can't tell you that."_

And yes, she knows that, of course she does. But it hadn't stopped her asking whether he was staying in LA, only to be met with a strained stare reminding her that he couldn't tell her that either. Eventually she had coaxed out of him that he'd be gone for at least a month but maybe a bit longer. She's relieved to know that it's not likely to be months this time.

He held her hand as he walked her back to her car but neither of them mentioned it.

He's been gone for two weeks and two days and she's pinning her hopes on the minimum time, even whilst she feels ridiculous for doing so. She's taken to reading LAPD dispatches that have barely passed in front of her eyes before, frantically scanning for any potential casualties. She can't tell anyone he's under so she has to try desperately to hide her relief when every day goes by with no mention of whatever case he's on. It's strange for silence to be reassuring, especially where he is concerned.

She's not stupid; she knows the others have noticed something is going on and she's sure Sam and Callen, at the very least, have guessed what it is. She's covering up just enough so that they don't have to mention it; she doesn't want to be forced to deny anything, but she will lie to them if she has to.

"Kensi, did you check out the O'Brian file from last week?" Alex Nicholls isn't really looking at her as he asks, his eyes on his phone.

She's startled out of the trance she didn't even realise had come over her and hopefully scans the surface of her desk for the file. Across from her, Will coughs and jerks his head towards her computer and she realises they aren't talking about a paper file.

"I, um... I had it checked out yesterday but I released it again," she says quickly, trying to remember whether she had definitely gone through the proper sequence or once again just closed the window. Their new electronic case working system is still experiencing teething problems.

"Okay," her boss says mildly, finally glancing her way with an easy smile. "I'll get Eric to do whatever it is he does to free it up. You finished with it? I'd like to sign it off today."

She nods – yesterday had been her final check – mouths _thank you_ at Will and determinedly pushes her partner to the back of her mind. Ex-partner, she reminds herself, but she doesn't like the way that sounds. Former partner, maybe. Previous partner.

_Friend._

Or whatever they are now, she muses briefly, before focusing on her tasks for the day.

There's a briefing from Alex for the raid tomorrow, one of Sam and Callen's ongoing cases. She forces herself to concentrate on it, grateful that Alex's briefings tend to be as concise as his speech. The new operations manager wasn't an instant hit with any of them, so used to Hetty as they were, but she thinks he probably won all of their respect the day he floored Sam in the gym – even Sam. Deeks, of course, had been predictably gleeful.

She doesn't know much about her boss but she's not sure how much of that is because she hasn't taken any time to find out. He's in his late forties, she thinks he's single, he's concise without being abrupt and it wasn't his idea to end the liaison arrangement with the LAPD. She's not sure what else could matter to her.

"Kensi?" Nell calls from the balcony, sounding far more hesitant than normal.

She glances up, something in the sound of Nell's voice making her uneasy. "You want us? Sam and Callen are out."

"No... Just you."

She rises slowly, knowing her worry is completely unfounded but familiar enough with Nell's tone to recognise the tension. When she reaches the balcony Nell doesn't turn towards Ops like she would do if this was official, but instead pushes open the door to a small meeting room.

"Nell-" she starts, only to be cut off.

"Deeks is under." She doesn't say it as if this is something she thinks will be news.

Kensi can't meet her eyes. "I know," she admits, knowing it's pointless to deny it given her lack of reaction.

"How long?"

"How long have I known?" There's a nod. "Three weeks. He... He told me a couple of days before he left."

"You didn't think we'd want to know? That we might be able to help?" Nell keeps her voice low and restrained, clearly aware that they're only a wall away from people who can't know about this.

Suddenly it all just seems unfair and Kensi's frustration bubbles up. "He wasn't even supposed to tell me! And now you think I should have broadcast it even further?!"

"No..." Nell gestures wildly, seeming at a loss for words. "I just meant... We could have _found_ him, Kensi. You know we could."

"You obviously did," she retorts sharply, worried at how easily Deeks' situation has been found out.

"Yeah, well..." Nell drops into a chair, plainly unwilling to provoke an argument. "You weren't saying anything and it felt like that was more than just because there was nothing to say. And we... We wanted to know if what we suspected was right."

"We? Eric knows too?" Kensi hopes it's _only_ Eric.

Nell nods. "But just us. We haven't – we _wouldn't_ tell anyone else. You know that."

Kensi pulls out the other chair. "I know. I do. I just... If you found him, somebody else could. I know you're good, Nell, but..."

Nell hesitates. "I don't think anyone else will track him down."

Something in her voice makes Kensi's eyes narrow. "What did you do?" she asks, even as she thinks she probably won't get an answer she likes.

"We... _pushed_ a little at the LAPD firewall." Nell sees the confusion on her face. "When Deeks was liaison, we had access to an awful lot of the LAPD resources. For good reason. And when he left, they reduced our access rights to only what all agencies share. But, well, we're good at getting into things. And you're probably going to want me to stop there."

"Probably," Kensi agrees wearily, running her fingers through her hair. "So you know where he is?"

Nell shakes her head. "Not exactly." She sighs. "It didn't feel right and the longer we spent poking around the higher the chance of someone noticing. He's still in the city, though."

She doesn't say anything for a moment, trying to work out whether she wants to know any more. She can't see him, can't speak to him, can't check he's okay – so is there any point in knowing what the hell he's up to?

"I don't... Kensi, we don't think it's quite like what he used to do. We don't think it's drugs or guns or anything like that."

Kensi looks at her, faltering against a now-familiar stab of jealousy at anyone knowing more about Deeks than she does. "We're not supposed to know any of this," she says flatly.

"You don't want to know?" Nell's bewilderment is obvious. "We thought you'd want to know. That means he's safer, doesn't it? Not the kind of dangerous stuff he did before."

"No... It's still dangerous. And if it's not what he's used to then there's more chance he'll slip up."

Nell snorts. "Deeks, slip up undercover? You think he ever did?"

"He's out of practice!" she blurts out, suddenly unable to hide the fear she's been suppressing for weeks. "He's _not_ used to it anymore! You think he can just drop back into these characters he plays? It's not that easy, he's not that person now!"

Nell stares at her, transfixed by the unexpected outburst.

She drops her head into her hands. "I'm sorry," she mumbles, feeling her face flush. She's been trying so hard to keep everything contained that for just a moment the mask slid off.

"It's okay," Nell says awkwardly, knowing her well enough not to attempt to comfort.

"I just don't want to think about it, okay?"

"But we could-"

"_No_. I don't want to do anything, I don't want to know any more, I don't even want to think about it, I told you."

Nell is quiet for a moment. "Fine," she concedes, her reluctance obvious.

Kensi lifts her head, no longer caring that her eyes shine with unshed tears and her concern shows on her face. There doesn't seem any reason to hide it now. "He'll be back in a few weeks. Just promise me you won't dig any further?"

For a moment, she thinks Nell won't agree, but then her friend nods. She knows Nell will keep her promise and make Eric abide by it too.

"Thank you," she says, as she stands and reaches for the door handle. Just before she opens it, she turns her head back. "It's nice to know I'm not the only one who worries about him. And he'd like that."

* * *

Nell avoids her for the next week and she's relieved. It saves her from acting on the internal voice reminding her that all she has to do is give her highly proficient technical colleagues the go ahead. All she has to do to know where he is, what he's doing and when he might come back to her is let two people who hack systems every day push just a little bit further.

What stops her is the knowledge that there's nothing she can do even if she knows where he is.

Fortunately, there's been enough going on to distract her. The day after the conversation, the raid had yielded a massive smuggling ring using naval bases and they've spent the last four days interviewing suspects and collating information. Alex has kept them all moving, changing them up, switching them around, and she's grateful.

She can't deny she's only on autopilot, but there's something comforting about knowing her autopilot works so well. There was only one occasion when she turned to see Will where she instinctively expected Deeks to be and that's better, so much better than it was when he first left. Will really isn't a bad guy, she's realising; he's genuine, professional and hasn't failed to back her so far.

She feels disloyal for even thinking she can manage without Deeks by her side all the time but the truth is she's not just managing – she's even starting to enjoy it again. If it wasn't for the pervasive fear for his safety that hasn't left her and most likely won't until he's back, she thinks she would be looking forward to coming to work.

And then yesterday Callen had forgotten he was still treading on eggshells and mentioned Deeks. It was innocuous, some stupid joke that one of their suspects had tried in desperation, and he was shaking his head in despair as he came out of the boatshed into the sunshine.

"_Seriously, it was just like having Deeks back. Totally appalling timing."_

_Sam snorted as he passed his partner a bottle of water. "Yeah, but did he explain the joke to you afterwards? 'Cos that-"_

They had both remembered Kensi's presence at the same time, Sam's voice trailing away as he took in her face. The silence had made Will look up from the email he'd been reading on his phone.

"_I miss something?"_

"_No," she said hurriedly. "No, just the guys reminiscing. My part-...My last partner's bad jokes. And they're bad, let me tell you."_

She'd smiled self-consciously and changed the subject back to work; fortunately, her colleagues had been only too happy to let her lead them back to safer territory. She hadn't missed Will's sideways glance at her, filled with curiosity rather than suspicion, but he'd said nothing and she'd volunteered nothing.

She realises she's been daydreaming again when Will taps her on the shoulder.

"Alex is calling it a day. Charges laid against six and we've been given extra time to hold four more. You coming for a drink?" he asks, gathering his things.

She's about to say no when she realises there's nothing to go home for. She doesn't want to spend another evening fighting her imagination. "Sure," she says with a smile. "Did someone tell Eric and Nell?" She might not want to go three rounds with Nell again but she knows both their techs are exhausted after four days of staring at monitors.

"I've just been up there. They're going to follow us in a few minutes. You ready?"

She nods, following him outside. "The guys already gone?"

Will laughs. "Sam said he wasn't waiting but he'd get the first round in. I think they've had a rough few days."

She decides to leave her car and go with Will, feeling as though she might want to drink more than she'll be able to if she drives. It's been a week of little sleep and long hours, trying everything they can to work out the structure of the operation they've cracked, working at suspects who didn't want to give up anything. She suddenly misses Deeks so much her skin aches; he'd still be joking, teasing, pushing her buttons, not displaying any of the weariness he had to be feeling. It's not Will's fault he's tired and wants to see his family – but knowing that doesn't stop her wanting somebody different in the seat next to her.

On impulse, she pulls her phone out of her bag.

_You can't answer me – you won't even see this for weeks, I'm guessing. I just wanted to remind you that you promised me a conversation. I missed you today. Don't let it go to your head._

She hits send knowing he would never be so careless as to risk taking his phone with him. It's probably lying dead in his house somewhere, gathering dust like everything else. She wonders what he's done with Monty and kicks herself for not volunteering to look after him; she's still not in love with the dog, but he'd be a reminder that Deeks _is_ coming back. It feels like far more than four weeks since she saw him and her heart fell into the crevasse she's been keeping it in since.

"You all right?" Will asks, taking a quick sidelong glance at her.

She pulls a face. "Tired, hungry and fed up of going over the same ground. Same as you, I bet."

He snorts. "Yep. And would you like to read a couple of bedtime stories later?" He says the words deadpan but she hears the affection behind them and wonders how he puts work aside enough to enjoy his family.

"How old are your children?" she asks, surprising herself. She doesn't often delve into her colleagues' lives.

"Mark's seven and Becky's four," he answers easily.

"You don't worry about..." She hesitates, not sure if this is far too personal a question to ask a partner she's known less than two months.

"About?" he prompts curiously.

"About managing your life and your job. About... something happening."

"Yeah, I worried," he admits, with the same candidness that she's starting to associate with him. "But at some point I had to make a decision. Either I tried to convince myself I wouldn't regret ending things with Anna so she could maybe be happy with someone else or I threw myself into it. All of it. So I declared the relationship, she was vetted and I got permission to bring her into the secrecy, as it were."

"She didn't know? For how long?"

"She knew I was NCIS. She didn't know what I did. I was just lucky that she didn't take it the wrong way."

"You were," she says quietly, wondering how she would feel if she found out someone she had a relationship with had been keeping a secret like that.

"She's pretty easy going," Will continues, "and I hadn't been in undercover work that long. I was a lot younger then, remember."

She laughs with him, because they both know he's hardly old now – but it brings home to her that years have been passing with her barely taking a second glance. When she had first met Deeks, she hadn't even hit thirty. She thinks back to the first few years of their partnership, flirting their way through the days, when she at least hadn't thought of taking it any further. She still doesn't know how he felt then and it's difficult to identify any one moment when she realised they could be something if either of them ever dared push it. Now, it feels as if they sleep-walked through the last couple of years, both waiting for something, anything, that would be able to use as an excuse for speaking out.

_Waste_, she thinks to herself, suddenly melancholy.

Will brings the car to a halt and she spots Eric and Nell pulling up near them; Nell drives like a demon so she's not surprised they've caught up. She can see Callen and Alex at a table just inside the door, Sam approaching with a tray of drinks.

As she sits down, smiling at the others teasing Sam about his sudden alcohol craving, she can't stop her hand reaching for her phone.

_You know what you're missing? Sam being so desperate for a drink that he's just letting everyone wind him up about his body no longer being a temple. I'll try to stand in for you._

She has a horrible feeling that texting Deeks with no hope of reply is her own particular symptom of insanity.

It's a symptom that persists until she falls into an uneasy, alcohol-induced sleep just before midnight, only to be woken six hours hours later by her phone ringing.

She expects it to be Eric, summoning them, but it's not. It's an LAPD detective telling her that Deeks has been stabbed.

* * *

**Oh no, a cliffhanger... If it helps, I deliberately waited to post chapter 2 until chapter 3 was nearly finished. So I hope to finish chapter 3 tonight and post in the next couple of days. Otherwise, you are all entitled to chase after me with pitchforks...**

**Reviews are always gratefully received and I try to reply to those that aren't anonymous.**


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